


Going to School

by samantilles



Series: Young Daniel [2]
Category: Stargate: SG-1
Genre: Category: Angst, Gen, category: childhood, category: hurt/comfort, episode: sg-1 2x04 the gamekeeper, episode: sg-1 3x21 the crystal skull, episode: stargate movie, post type: fanfiction, series: young daniel, sg-1 pre-series, type: gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-02
Updated: 2009-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samantilles/pseuds/samantilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel finds himself in a new city without his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going to School

**Author's Note:**

> All communications with Daniel in other languages are **boldfaced**. Assume it is Arabic unless otherwise specified in the context (which also include Latin and Greek). Flashbacks or written notes are _italicized_.

  


"Going to School" is the 2nd installment of the Young Daniel Series, and to date is my longest, though perhaps will not be so for long. Daniel has just now gotten past the initial aftermath of his parents' deaths but is stuck in a country where he doesn't know the language and no one seems to understand the help he needs. This story begins the setup of Daniel's school placement and continues in "First Home" (not yet written).

For more information on the Young Daniel Series, please visit [the Introduction](http://samantilles.dreamwidth.org/17093.html).

 **Please note no knowledge of the "Young Daniel Series" is needed to enjoy the story. We do meet a main character in this story, Nancy Johnson, who will remain as Daniel's caseworker throughout the rest of the series.**

Note: All communications with Daniel in other languages are **boldfaced**. Assume it is Arabic unless otherwise specified in the context (which also include Latin and Greek). Flashbacks or written notes are _italicized_.

* * *

 **Title:** Going to School  
 **Author:** [](http://samantilles.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**samantilles**](http://samantilles.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Fandom:** Stargate: SG-1  
 **Spoilers:** Stargate: The Movie, 2x04 The Gamekeeper, 3x21 The Crystal Skull  
 **Category:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Childhood  
 **Series:** Young Daniel  
 **Part in Series:** 2  
 **Word Count:** 17,217  
 **Beta:** many many thanks to [](http://ancientmuse.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ancientmuse**](http://ancientmuse.dreamwidth.org/) for beta'ing and running it through several times with a fine tooth comb!

* * *

  
  


* * *

 ****

Chapter 1: Testing

* * *

“Ego operor non agnosco!” _I don’t understand!_ Latin was the only language Daniel knew with the Roman alphabet. That didn’t stop him from trying to communicate in whatever way possible. Along the margins of the question packet he also scribbled the same phrase in Greek and Arabic, praying someone would understand him. He just didn’t know English well enough to communicate with everyone else, and it scared him. “Δεν καταλαβαίνω” and “ انني لا افهم” As he stared at the pages of unintelligible letters, he suddenly felt dumb for the first time in his life. He recognized some of the words, mentally sounding out the Latin or Greek roots, but he neither understood the directions or could translate the meaning into Arabic. So he was left with seemingly random words on the paper and no idea what to do with them. He didn’t understand the instructions the proctor had given him, and so at the end of the timed period, the scantron answer sheet was empty; not a single little bubble was filled in with the #2 pencil Daniel gripped tightly in his right hand.

The front office secretary walked Daniel out of the classroom at the end of the verbal section of the grade placement exam and the she pointed at the two opposite ends of the hall. To the left she pointed and loudly announced “lunch,”and then to the right “bathroom.” Daniel, with enough cursory knowledge of English, headed then for the boys’ room. He entered into the handicapped stall on the far end of the large school bathroom, curled up in the corner and cried. He cried because he missed his parents; he cried because he didn’t understand what was going on; and he cried because he couldn’t tell anyone that he didn’t understand. The frustration from the first part of the test had built up to the point it needed to be released. He openly sobbed, without a care about whom might be listening. No one listened though. No one even came near the boys’ room for a good half hour.

The secretary came looking for him after waiting in the cafeteria with his lunch. She knocked on the door and called in for him. He sat himself up, holding his breath. When he heard the door close once again, he sighed and let out one last set of tears. He wiped his face with his forearm, swiping his nose on his shoulder and unlocked the stall door. Daniel turned on the faucet and was washing his hands when the secretary called in again, this time seeing him at the sink. She smiled at him, “Come on, its time for the next section.” He gave her a confused look, and she physically waved him over to her with a smile. He wiped his hands with a paper towel and then offered a clean hand to her, allowing her to lead him back to the classroom.

As he was handed the second question packet and answer sheet, Daniel’s heart leapt with hope. It was in the universal language of math. He never liked math when his dad attempted to teach him, but at least now he understood what was on the page. The test began easily with simple questions like “2+2=?” and Daniel raced through them, filling in the blank to each question, ignoring the multiple choices below it. He showed the mathematical processes in the ample white space on the test sheet as the questions became more difficult with square roots and long division. He became stumped as he hit the algebra section, questioning whether kids his age in America were already learning this stuff in school. The query reminded him of times with his dad, spread out on their bellies with an old math book between them, their study time as casual as possible. Melbourne was never really good at math in college, but he knew his arithmetic and was frequently the one responsible for the digsite finances. Claire on the other hand was completely useless with numbers. She couldn’t figure out square areas to save her life, and the thought of her handling the family checkbook was laughable. Math may have been a universal language, but it was one in which she was not fluent. Daniel struggled through the rest of the problems as best he could, but his frustration began to swell again and a tear glistened ready to fall.

The proctor had quickly helped Daniel fill out his name and student information on the sheet before showing him how to properly fill in the circles on the scantron early that morning. She then sat down in at the desk, pulled out several magazines, and contently read up on all the national gossip and celebrity news. She had an egg timer set to go off at the end of the two sections, and until that bell rang, she didn’t once look up to see the clear frustration on Daniel’s face throughout the examination. As the bell rang, the proctor swiftly jumped out of her seat and snatched the test packet from Daniel, shoving it into a manilla envelope and sealing it with a long lick. She never noticed that the only section filled out after all that time was the first section with his name and information with which she had helped fill out. She smiled down at him, ruffling his irresistible hair, and patted his back to indicate he could leave.

Daniel's caseworker, Mr. George Johansen, sat outside the principal’s office waiting for the boy as the secretary guided Daniel to the office. Before him was the same sad little boy who had only spoken a few broken words to him in the past four weeks since he was removed from the museum that fateful day. The boy was polite enough to say 'good morning' and 'good day' as salutations, but didn’t utter another English word. Sometimes Daniel uttered gibberish to him, expecting Mr. Johansen to understand, but Mr. Johansen didn’t speak gibberish and was convinced that the boy was retarded. The tests today would prove it, he thought as the boy sat next to him on the bench, pulled up his knees to his chest and tucked his head into a self-embrace. Mr. Johansen felt for Daniel, he really did. He was not certified nor trained to handle children with such severe disabilities as Daniel had shown to him. After today, Daniel would most likely not be his charge anymore. Thank goodness.

Mr. Johansen was called into the office as the secretary left after delivering the answer results. She replaced him on the bench, pulling her arm around the boy. Daniel pulled his head up to see what disturbed him and brought him back from Egypt in his head. As frustrated and upset as he was, he welcomed the embrace and let his body fall towards her in a lean. The secretary couldn’t help but verbally sigh with a surprise, but she tightened her embrace about the boy’s shoulders and patted his head as he tucked himself further into her side.

The conversation that followed was exactly as Mr. Johansen predicted. Upon finding out that Daniel didn’t fill in a single bubble, the principal, Mr. Nowanowsky, asked if Daniel had any behavioral issues. “I’m no expert, but I’ve seen several cases like Daniel’s come my way. This should be _definitely_ checked by a doctor, but its _my_ opinion Daniel is autistic,” Mr. Johansen said smugly, “He _obviously_ couldn’t understand the instructions.” Sure Daniel didn’t fit all the symptoms of Autism, but he had enough. Daniel had little to no communication skills, he was socially withdrawn and had no interests other than looking at books. Mr. Johansen was sure of it. Even if it wasn’t Autism, as he was missing the fourth classic symptom, repetitive behavior, Mr. Johansen was clear in his “expert” advice that Daniel was mentally retarded and needed to be separated from normal students. He suggested, and his suggestion was accepted, that Daniel be placed in a special education school that could help teach him enough skills to become independent by eighteen. Mr. Johansen patted himself on the back and with a job well done ended the conference.

It was almost heartbreaking for Mr. Johansen to separate Daniel from the secretary; it was the first time he’d ever seen Daniel warm up to anyone. He nudged Daniel on his shoulder and pulled him gently from the bench by his arm. Daniel complied, though he showed little enthusiasm the entire trip back to the group home. Once there, Daniel returned to his normal routine. He talked to no one, he didn’t play with any toys in the play room or outside. He curled up silently with a book if he could find one, and with a notebook if he couldn’t. His journal entries the past three weeks were almost identical. _I want to go home. I don’t understand what’s going on. No one can talk to me. I want to go back to Egypt. I miss my parents. Why can’t I go back? Why didn’t Nick want me? T'ariq would have taken me, he said so. He loves me, unlike Nick._ Once one of the social workers at the home took a look at his notebook. She asked about the beautiful artwork, but he didn’t respond intelligently. “ **Please don’t read that!** ” he quietly pleaded in Arabic, but just as the written words on the page were mistaken for artwork, so was his plea as gibberish.

* * *

 ****

Chapter 2: The Discovery

* * *

George Johansen sat in his supervisor’s office the following morning. Completing Daniel’s case file to include the school’s decision to place him in special education, Mr. Johansen sat with a smug smile on his face, ready to hand off the special needs child to another caseworker. He didn’t handle kids with special needs. He didn’t want to either.

Mr. Newman walked in his office door with his most experienced special needs caseworker, Nancy Johnson. “Ah, Nancy! Good to see you!” George Johansen was in a great mood. “You’ve definitely got your hands full with this one, Nanc!” He handed her Daniel’s file, smiling broadly at her. Newman took his seat behind his desk to supervise the official “handing over” of one Daniel Jackson, but was not a participant in the transaction. Nancy rolled her eyes but opened the file, studying what she could. The file was technically complete; the entire set of court transcripts were present, but no one summarized the two hundred page file. Johansen did his job; he just didn’t go beyond what was required. She was willing to bet he didn’t even know what might be in those transcripts; but she’d probably spend the rest of the weekend going over them.

“So, is there anything I need to know before I meet him today?” Nancy was eager to get out of Newman’s office and do her job. She glared at Johansen, her long standing feelings of distrust and annoyance at him present in her tone and expression.

“He only knows the most basic of phrases, such as ‘good day’, ‘good morning’, ‘thank you’, etc. He has no capacity for any real communication. Socially distant. I seriously doubt much of anything goes through that brain of his.” Nancy Johnson wanted to slap Johansen for that last comment, but she mustered all her strength to resist the physical impulse to do so.

“Thank you for your analysis, George. I am sure my first impressions of the boy will confirm your argument.” She smiled back at him smugly. First impressions were rarely correct as far as she was concerned. She stood up, nodded to Johansen, muttered a quiet “sir” to Newman, and exited as quickly as she could with her dignity intact.

* * *

Nancy Johnson took five minutes to go over the file once in her car. During that time she could find zero information about Daniel’s life before his parents’ deaths. She couldn’t find any of Daniel’s medical records; if Johansen was (doubtfully) correct, shouldn’t his parents have involved a medical professional when they first detected autism or mental retardation? Then there was the court transcript. All the answers hid away in there; of that she was certain. Johansen may be a moron and an arrogant sun of a gun, but if those records existed in New York, he would have found them. Their absence from the file was an indication that those files didn’t exist, not that Johansen hadn’t done his job to find them. But Johansen hadn’t read the transcript though he should have. She then realized that Johansen had been assigned Daniel before the court hearings. “Wait a moment,” she said to herself while she thought about the implications of her last insight. Johansen had been with Daniel as the court finalized his placement with Social Services; theoretically, Johansen should know the basics of the court proceeding then. Therefore, if Johansen is wrong, and doggone it, Nancy Johnson knew George Johansen was wrong, then chances are he didn’t pay attention to the particulars of the case. He probably only attended the court sessions the days Daniel needed to be there, and read a book or a magazine or caught up on paperwork as many of the social workers did while the court went on about them. Nancy Johnson seethed at this thought, but she was sure she was right on both accounts.

Her five minutes were up, and starting her car, she made her way to the Maryvale Boys’ Home, where lunch was soon to be served. One of the ladies who helped out at the home guided Mrs. Johnson to one of Daniel’s normal hiding places, curled up behind a large oak tree in the corner of the back yard. Daniel was zoned out; he didn’t immediately respond to Mrs. Johnson’s calling. The lady snapped her fingers annoyedly and Daniel looked up at her. “This is Mrs. Johnson, Daniel,” she talked loudly and slowly, “your new caseworker.” Mrs. Johnson held out her hand and smiled at Daniel. He stared at her for a moment but didn’t move. Mrs. Johnson could see in Daniel’s woeful blue eyes that he didn’t know what was going on. She also saw a boy who was very, very sad. The house lady snapped one more time, waving him to come with her, and he obediently uncurled himself, grabbing a ratty notebook from beside him and tightening his embrace of the notebook around his chest as they walked back into the house. “He doesn’t talk much, but he seems to be picking up basic gestures. He’s made some improvement since he came here three weeks ago.”

“How has he been on the summer day trips with the other boys?” Mrs. Johnson was trying to get a handle on young Mr. Jackson’s behavior in social settings.

“Oh, he doesn’t go on the day trips. We don’t have the resources to keep someone with him at all times, not with sixty other boys to try to control. Since someone has to stay here anyways, he just stays with her.” The lady stated non-chalantly.

“What!” Mrs. Johnson yelled, startling the lady. “You’re telling me this boy hasn’t left this house since he came here?” She glared at the lady, not noticing Daniel was still directly behind her, staring at the raised voices.

“Of course not, Mrs. Johnson! Daniel left the house just yesterday for his school placement testing.” Mrs. Johnson was ready to lose it with the woman.

“This is ridiculous!! No wonder this boy is withdrawn! You’ve placed him in a jail cell as far as I can tell!”

“Well, its not like the boy would know the difference anyways!” The lady tried to defend the house’s actions.

“How dare you presume to judge that! You are depriving this boy of any type of intellectual stimulation! You’re directly isolating him from all social interaction! How do you know the boy wouldn’t know the difference if you don’t try?! How would you react if you were stuck here in this house for three weeks, alone and alienated?” Mrs. Johnson began to consider reporting this to her superiors. This was tantamount to child abuse as far as she was concerned.

“Mr. Johansen said he was hopeless, that there was no point!” The lady pointed to Daniel, not even realizing Daniel’s attention was fixed on the argument.

“Oh, and when is Mr. Johansen qualified for special needs, ma’am? Tell me that! Of all the moronic, thick headed—” She cut off the rest of her statement, turning around and grasping the boy’s hand in hers and walking out the door.

“Where are you going with him?” The lady was shocked that Mrs. Johnson was leaving. “You can’t leave without signing him out!”

“Sign him out then. I’m taking him out for the afternoon from this hellhole!” Mrs. Johnson didn’t even look back. Daniel struggled to keep up with her faster-than-normal pace as they left the house for the day.

* * *

Their first stop was lunch. Mrs. Johnson had not planned on taking Daniel out of the house, but she was so angry that she didn’t think ahead. She had no idea what was in the area to eat, let alone what kind of activities she could do with Daniel. The only restaurant in sight after a few minutes of driving around was a Lebanese Taverna. She turned her head to look at the boy, who was in turn staring out the window, his notebook glued to his chest. She couldn’t even begin to guess what type of food Daniel might like, and he’d proven thusfar that he might not be able to tell her anyways. She just hoped he liked spicy food.

They took a booth in the nearly empty restaurant. Immediately Daniel pulled a pencil from his pocket, propped open his notebook and began to scribble in it. Mrs. Johnson just observed his actions until the waitress came by to take orders. “I don’t suppose you have a kids’ menu?” Mrs. Johnson replied politely, nodding towards Daniel.

“No, ma’am, but I’m sure the cook can whip something up for him. He’s got six of his own kids; he’ll know what to make.” The waitress was cheerful and winked when she mentioned the number of kids the cook had. Mrs. Johnson blushed.

“That will be wonderful, thank you. I’ll just have a lamb gyro. Two glasses of water and a glass of milk for Daniel here.” The waitress took the opportunity to bend down and smile at the boy. As she stood up, she glanced down at his notebook and ruffled his hair. She commented that everything should be out shortly and disappeared.

Mrs. Johnson took the wait time as an opportunity to try to talk to Daniel. He was thoroughly engaged in his artwork, of which Mrs. Johnson couldn’t make heads or tails. But as she began to talk, Daniel did break from his scribbling and pay attention to her. “Daniel, my name is Nancy. I would like very much to be your friend.” She smiled at him, but noted that her statement didn’t sink in to his head.

“Bathroom, please.” She was surprised she elicited any response from the boy, and she mentally slapped herself that she was surprised the boy talked at all. She should not have let Johansen’s opinions influence her like that. Mrs. Johnson looked around the restaurant, getting the attention of the waitress.

“Ma’am, do you have someone who can escort Daniel to the men’s room? He can’t be left alone, but he’s too old for me to go with him.” Mrs. Johnson was explaining herself unnecessarily to the waitress, who quickly called over her busboy.

“Kahlil will be happy to take him!” The waitress then whispered to Kahlil his instructions, and when he looked at her funny, she just commented “Just do it! His name is Daniel, by the way.” The two watched as the clumsy twenty-something escorted the small eight-year-old to the bathroom. “Are you his babysitter, ma’am?” The waitress commented curiously.

“No, I'm his caseworker,” Mrs. Johnson sighed in exhaustion. She pondered for a moment just how much time Daniel might need from her weekly.

“Well, his handwriting is absolutely beautiful, if I may say so myself.” The waitress smiled before leaving.

“His handwriting?” Mrs. Johnson looked incredulously at the waitress.

“His handwriting. Beautiful script indeed, especially for a boy as young as he is.” She pointed to his notebook full of scribbling.

“You mean to tell me this is a language? You can read this?” Mrs. Johnson was suddenly excited.

“Its Arabic, but I’m afraid I can’t read it. I know what it looks like, and this, this is definitely Arabic. Someone taught him well.”

Mrs. Johnson took the notebook in her hands, now looking at it carefully. “Does anyone here read Arabic?” She wanted to know what Daniel had just written, and she didn’t want to wait. In response, the waitress called over the cook, Faisal, and asked him to translate.

“ _A lady just came and yelled at the woman at the house. They both got very angry. Did I do something wrong? The lady took me away from the house. I don’t want to go back there, but my notebooks are still there. I need to go back for them. We’re at a Lebanese restaurant. The waitress seems nice. She’s very pretty._ ” The waitress smiled at the complement. “ _I don’t know what’s going on. I wish I could go back home, to Egypt._ ” They heard the distant men’s room door open, and sensing that Mrs. Johnson didn’t want Daniel to know they had read his journal, as that is now what it was, they replaced it back on the table where Daniel was sitting before he returned to the table with Kahlil. Daniel was ushered back into the booth, but Faisal knelt down next to him. “ **What would you like to eat, young one?** ” Faisal smiled and questioned in Arabic. Daniel stared at him for a moment, unbelieving what he had heard.

“ **You speak Arabic?** ” Daniel questioned eagerly, the first smile broaching his face since that fateful day in the museum. Faisal smiled and nodded.

“ **I can cook you anything you want, young one.** " Daniel only responded by throwing his arms around Faisal’s large neck and holding tight. Faisal returned the embrace, stroking Daniel’s back gently, with a large but sad smile across his face.

“ **No one has understood me for weeks.** " Daniel muttered to Faisal while buried in his shoulder. Faisal tightened his hug and verbally hushed the boy to relax a bit.

“ **I don’t think anyone knew you spoke Arabic young one. The lady here didn’t know. I just told her when we saw your notebook.** ” Daniel sat up and looked at Faisal, then at Mrs. Johnson, and back at Faisal. She felt a bit like Daniel had the past few weeks, having no idea what was going on. But then she thought about it for a moment. Daniel mustn’t have known what was going on since his parents died.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Johnson let escape those words. It was all beginning to make sense now. She interrupted Faisal’s and Daniel’s discussion. “Can you ask him if he speaks English, sir?” She took a moment to think about that question. It seemed silly at first, because if the boy did speak English, he'd have understood the question from her. She asked hoping the adage “ _no question is a dumb question_ ” was true. Faisal nodded and translated the question into Arabic. Daniel shook his head in a clear ‘no’ before replying “ **my parents were supposed to teach me when we came here.** ” Mrs. Johnson dropped her head and shook it herself after hearing the translation, realizing how wrong Johansen had been. How had no one caught this before? She was thankful to at least have found this out, and found it out early. No wonder the boy was withdrawn.

Faisal removed himself from Daniel’s embrace. “ **I’m going to go cook you something wonderful, young one. You just wait and see. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen now, but I’ll see you before you leave, okay?** ” Daniel nodded a bit as he let drop a single tear, wiping it away with his forearm quickly.

As Faisal left, Daniel once again returned to his notebook, now furiously scribbling with an energy Mrs. Johnson hadn’t yet seen in the boy. Daniel was even smiling a little bit. He certainly wasn’t paying attention to Mrs. Johnson, but that was okay. This gave her a moment to regard the boy. Faisal had said that Daniel wanted to go home to Egypt. But a name like Daniel Jackson certainly wasn’t Egyptian. The boy was pale, but on second glance, she noted the hint of golden tan that was quickly receding. The roots of his hair were a much darker brown than the streaked blond further down, indicating that he spent a lot of time in the sun until recently. He didn’t look very healthy, but his frame indicated once he was a strong and energetic little boy. She could even see faint tan lines from the boy’s round glasses along the sides of his face towards his ears. The food arrived too quickly, but upon seeing the plate overloaded with a variety of Middle Eastern food, Daniel’s face literally lit up, and he didn’t wait for Mrs. Johnson’s plate to settle in front of her before digging in eagerly. He ate like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was animated and expressive in his enjoyment of the food. Mrs. Johnson couldn’t help but smile, her mind still trying to figure out what to do next. Social Services didn’t have any programs for kids who didn’t speak English. Kids from other countries were returned by Immigration to their homeland if something like this happened, but Daniel was an American citizen. She glanced back at his file to confirm it. His birth certificate was from a town in Greece, but Daniel was born to two American citizens, and the parents had filed all the appropriate documentation for Daniel’s citizenship. Everyone must have just assumed he spoke English.

Daniel’s plate was empty in no time, and eating more than he had in weeks; his stomach wanted to rebel. He burped loudly but excused himself in Arabic. The waitress returned promptly and took the empty plates from the table. Mrs. Johnson thanked the waitress for the service and requested the check. “Faisal stated that this is on the house.”

“Oh, I can’t accept the generous offer.” Mrs. Johnson blushed at the comment.

“Oh you have to. Not accepting is a grave insult. He insists!” She raised her hand out to her to stop her from objecting again. “He’ll be out in a moment to say goodbye to the boy, he promised him so.” She smiled and quickly left.

Faisal returned just as they were standing up, stretching out their full stomachs. He carried with him a large white square bag. “ **For tonight, young one!** ” Daniel smiled, even though he couldn’t imagine eating again after the meal he just had. Faisal handed the bag to Mrs. Johnson, repeating what he said in English. Faisal was unfortunately lost as to what to tell Daniel next. He didn’t know the circumstances, and he didn’t want to make promises he knew probably would never come true. “ **I wish you well, young one. Hopefully one day you can return to the motherland. Be true and brave!** ” Daniel nodded quietly and returned with a farewell. “ **Ma’a Salaama, young one.** ”

Once again in Mrs. Johnson’s car, the two were silent. This time though, Daniel was silent from exhaustion. Both he and Mrs. Johnson were experiencing a dire need for an after-lunch nap after such a big meal. Daniel rested his eyes while Mrs. Johnson drove around, trying to think of what to do next. A list began to pile up.  
1) Read the court transcript.  
2) Find someone who speaks Arabic and can contact regularly.  
3) Find someone to teach English to Daniel.  
4) Get the boy retested and placed back in a proper school environment.  
The first she could do easily on her own, but she needed to find someone to translate for the boy, and hopefully that same someone can recommend someone to teach English to Daniel. Further thoughts invaded her mind. Where would she place the boy? Were there any Arabic speaking families in the network? Could he pick up the language quickly enough? She had planned to take Daniel somewhere for the day, but with the new information, she felt a greater need to get started on this. One more afternoon at Maryvale would hopefully cut back his time there by weeks if not months. She drove him back to the house, careful to avoid the lady from before. She signed Daniel back in and knelt down to give him a hug. She was very glad he returned it, and watched as he slowly padded back to his dorm room.

* * *

She didn’t return to the office, as she had already signed out that she would be gone the rest of the afternoon. She took the opportunity to go home with Daniel’s file and began a good reading through the transcripts. A good thirty pages in, an idea suddenly hit her. She knew an administrator at NYU who could set up something with a member of their foreign language department for Daniel. She really wanted to prove Johansen wrong that Daniel was mentally retarded, but the only way to do that was to know just how smart Daniel was, and that required someone who spoke fluent English and Arabic. This also meant this would be more than a single visit. With a sigh, she called out to her friend at NYU, and he was happy to arrange a meeting with the head of the department for the upcoming Monday afternoon. Mrs. Johnson was relieved and happy with the outcome, and settled in for the evening with a large cup of tea and Daniel’s case file.

* * *

Chapter 3: Setting the Record Straight 

* * *

By the following Monday, Nancy Johnson had a thousand ideas running through her head. She took a moment to write some of them down before she forgot them and began to plan out her day. The first thing she did was return to the school where Daniel had been tested. She had a copy of the results, but she hadn’t actually seen the test. She requested the actual test packet and reviewed it while sitting outside of the principal’s office. The answer sheet was indeed empty, but it was the question packet that interested her. She found the same script the waitress identified as Arabic along the margins, along with another type of blocky script and English lettering. None of it made sense to her, but she began to think her meeting this afternoon with the chair of the foreign languages was as important as later. She then reviewed the math section, and gasped audibly when she saw problem after problem completed on the question packet. She was thankfully called into the principal’s office just then.

“Mrs. Johnson, what can I do for you today?” Mr. Nowanowsky wasn’t sure what Mrs. Johnson could want, though he had been told it was about the testing of Daniel Jackson.

“I think we made a mistake, Mr. Nowanowsky. I have serious doubts of the test results and the decisions made because of them.”

Mr. Nowanowsky interrupted. “That is impossible; these tests have been a standard in this school system for years. Their value has been repeatedly verified through hundreds of correct placements.”

“I’m sure they have, Mr. Nowanowsky, but I do not think they were designed to correctly judge the mental capacity of someone who does not speak English.” She reprimanded him as strongly as was polite to do so.

“About what are you talking, Mrs. Johnson? Of course Daniel doesn’t speak English; his mental capacity was determined to be too low to understand most concepts of the English language.”

“You are wrong, Mr. Nowanowsky. Daniel speaks fluent Arabic, not English. No one seemed to notice in his file that he was raised in Egypt, with some time spent in Greece. He doesn’t speak English because he wasn’t raised in an English speaking country. He’d never been to this country before a month ago!” Mrs. Johnson threw Daniel’s thick file down on the desk. Mr. Nowanowsky just sat there stupefied. “He didn’t do well on your tests because he couldn’t understand the directions. Take a look at the math section.”

Mr. Nowanowsky glanced through the completed math problems, the massiveness of his mistakes from two days ago beginning to haunt him. He was quite ready to believe Daniel was incapable of ever reading past a third grade level, only to be proven wrong. He wasn’t sure what could be done though. He couldn’t place Daniel in a class with other children when he didn’t speak English. His test results would come back identically to the previous set since he couldn’t be told the instructions on how to fill out the scantron sheet. He verbalized this last analysis.

“Retest just the math section then,” Mrs. Johnson argued. “We have his answers, don’t we? This is completely informal, but I’m willing to bet that if we fill in the scantron sheet with the answers he provided, his test scores will be through the roof.”

Nowanowsky thought about the scenario for a moment. The test scores could not be accepted if one of them filled in the sheets themselves, but without the verbal section, Daniel’s current scores would remain in place anyways. The two of them together could negate the possibility of skewing the results.

Nowanowsky agreed to the proposal and called to the secretary to bring in a new scantron sheet. They walked through the process, Mrs. Johnson filling out the answer sheet as Mr. Nowanowsky read the answer choice that corresponded with Daniel’s answer. As they approached the algebraic questions, they decided to keep the questions blank in which Daniel had not reached an answer that was also a choice. Other students might have guessed, and may have gotten it right, but they didn’t want to skew the results by guessing for Daniel. Once finished, Mr. Nowanowsky pulled a master answer key from his drawer and compared the answers.

To his surprise, Mrs. Johnson was correct. Daniel placed well into the fifth grade levels, though age-wise he should be starting the third grade. “Where do we go from here, Mrs. Johnson? I still can’t put him in a class with other students. He’ll be too much of an interruption.”

Nowanowsky did have a point. Daniel couldn’t be integrated into the normal school population, not just yet. “Can we set him up with a teaching assistant to teach him English? I don’t think he’s dumb. Quite the opposite; and those math scores indicate he’s a very smart boy. He may just need time and attention to learn the language this first year. Then we test him again, and put him in a proper class.”

He considered her proposition. On the one hand, he really didn’t have any teachers he could spare just for one student. On the other, he was legally bound to provide an education to each student, and just to tuck this one away in a class he didn’t belong would be unethical. “We’ve got two weeks before the school year starts. I’m retracting the placement recommendation for special education. By the time school starts, I’ll hopefully have someone who we can spare for Daniel. I just hope he’s as smart as you say, Mrs. Johnson.” Mrs. Johnson nodded in agreement, and thanked Mr. Nowanowsky for his time as she took her leave.

* * *

Mrs. Johnson picked Daniel up from Maryvale just after lunch. She signed Daniel out as civilly as she could with the lady, though she gave quite a smirk on just how wrong this woman was about Daniel. They drove quietly to the Foreign Language building at NYU for their afternoon appointment with Dr. Litrell. Daniel sat outside the main office while Dr. Littrell first met with Mrs. Johnson.

The two exchanged pleasantries, but dispensed quickly to get to the heart of the issue. Mrs. Johnson explained Daniel’s language situation so far, but she expressed that she had no idea on what equivelent grade level at which Daniel might be, nor could she find anyone who spoke Arabic. Dr. Litrell commented he didn’t speak Arabic, but one of his French professors was from Morocco, and spoke it fluently. He picked up the phone and requested that Dr. Gibran join the meeting.

Meanwhile, outside Daniel sat quietly writing in his journal, but he began to listen to the students walking by him. French, Italian, Russian. He heard five or six couples pass by him, each speaking languages he recognized, even if he didn’t speak them himself. His heart leapt. Finally, maybe they understood! He watched as a swarthy, dark haired young gentleman entered the room where Mrs. Johnson was with curiosity. A few minutes later, Daniel was called into the same room.

Mrs. Johnson patted a chair next to her for Daniel, and he complied without question. Both Dr. Litrell and Dr. Gibran smiled warmly to the boy, but only Gibran spoke. “ **Hello, Daniel. My name is Dr. Gibran, but you can just call me Imad.** ” Daniel greeted him back with a smile. “ **Mrs. Johnson told me that you speak Arabic, but not English, so she asked me to translate for her. She’s going to ask me some questions, which I will ask you, and all you have to do is respond to me. I’ll make sure she understands, okay?** ” Daniel nodded politely. And so the discussion began. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t sure how to begin, but she asked simple questions about his favorite food, color, activity, etc. They moved on to life in Egypt, about his education there. Daniel answered each question as he could, but it was clear he was reluctant to open up. The group took a small break when Daniel requested the use of a restroom, and given directions by Imad, he left silently.

Mrs. Johnson released the breath she didn’t know she was holding in a verbal sigh, taking her head in her hands as her elbows were propped on her knees. She sat back up, strengthening herself up for the rest of the interview. She had never had to work so hard to get a child to talk to her before; her style was casual but usually effective. After a good three minutes of silence, Dr. Gibran spoke up, “He’s a good kid, you know. And you’re right, Mrs. Johnson, he’s very smart. He’s mastered the Arabic language far better than other native eight-year-old speakers.”

“Thank you, Dr. Gibran, and thank you for helping me with this. My coworker wrote Daniel off as autistic because he couldn’t communicate in English. I’m estatic that he’s wrong, but I just don’t know where to go from here.” Her confusion and frustration was visible throughout her body; it was tense and she clutched at the sleeves to her blazer. She then remembered the placement testing and the Arabic script on it. “Oh!” she released as she scrambled to her briefcase, pulling out a small packet of paper. “Before I forget, can you explain to me what he wrote here?” She flipped through the packet as she was asking, and finding the script, she pointed to it as she thrust the packet at Imad.

“I don’t understand.” He replied calmly.

“You mean it’s not Arabic?” Mrs. Johnson was becoming confused again.

“No! No!”Dr. Gibran laughed, “He wrote, ‘I don’t understand.’”

“Oh!” Mrs. Johnson blushed in embarrassment. “There are two other phrases that show up earlier in the packet. I don’t suppose either of you can identify what they might be?”

Imad flipped back through the packet and found Daniel’s other writings. “It’s not Arabic, as one is written in roman lettering. Dr. Litrell?” The packet exchanged hands, and Dr. Litrell’s face lit up.

“One is Latin, and the other is Greek, Mrs. Johnson. They both say the same thing. ‘I don’t understand!’ The Latin is repeated throughout the packet it seems.” Dr. Litrell paused for a moment. “Perhaps it was his way of reaching out, trying to communicate. He didn’t realize that no one would speak any of these languages.”

“Wait a moment, you’re telling me that Daniel speaks Arabic, Latin, and Greek?” Mrs. Johnson was shocked at the revelation. “Does he speak any others?” Drs. Litrell and Gibran looked at each other. They explained that early childhood was the best time to pick up the foundations of language, so it was quite possible Daniel indeed had a working understanding of all three of the languages.

Several minutes had past, and Daniel had not yet returned from the rest room. Mrs. Johnson announced that she should go looking for him, but Imad stopped her. “I’ll go! Sit!” Mrs. Johnson was grateful for the assistance. As they waited, Dr. Litrell continued to chat with Mrs. Johnson. When he asked her how long she’s known him, she returned with the proper response; she’d only known him since yesterday morning.

Dr. Litrell pondered her for a moment. “Does he know who you are, Mrs. Johnson?” Nancy was taken back for a moment; surely Daniel had to know who she was. But then she thought about it.

“He doesn’t know me, does he?” She stated perplexedly. “Oh my God! Daniel’s been walking around with me and he has no idea who I am! How could I not have realized this?” She was pacing around the small office, running her hand through her hair frantically.

“It’s okay. He’s a very confused boy, but you seem to be the first person to pick up that he was confused and did something to correct it. You’ve probably done more for this boy than anyone has since his parents died.” He tried to console her, but she felt like a failure at her job. All these years she held her teammates in contempt for the half-assed jobs they did and here she was with a kid who had no idea who she was or that she wanted to help. Just then Imad returned with Daniel. He'd taken a wrong turn out of the bathroom and he found himself in the Economics department next door. Nancy kneeled down and swept Daniel into a big hug to console her guilt. He willingly returned the embrace, but he wasn’t sure why she kept hugging him. Daniel didn’t mind though. He liked that someone gave him hugs.

The remainder of the conversation circled around Mrs. Johnson. She first needed to settle her fears and asked if Daniel knew who she was. He responded, “ **Johnson** ”, and Mrs. Johnson’s heart leapt in her chest. He at least knew her name. When Imad asked him who Mrs. Johnson was, trying to pry to see if Daniel knew her relationship to him, he responded cautiously. “ **She yelled at the mean lady and fed me lunch a few days ago.** ” Before translating, Imad asked Daniel if he knew what Mrs. Johnson’s job was, but he shook his head. Imad then translated what Daniel did know about her to Mrs. Johnson. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit and smiled at Daniel.

“Please tell him that it’s my job to see that he’s cared for by other people. I’d like him to try to trust me and let me be his friend.” She looked eagerly at the boy as Imad translated, and was relieved when he gave a nod of understanding. Imad asked Daniel if he had any questions for Mrs. Johnson, but Daniel didn’t answer. He thought for a moment, silent as ever.

“ **What’s going to happen to me?** ” He asked quietly, his face betraying him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. The past five weeks have been horrible for him, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

Mrs. Johnson knelt down in front of Daniel upon hearing the question. “That’s a really good question, Daniel.”Imad translated as Mrs. Johnson paused between sentences. “It’s my job to put you in a good home, with people who will take care of you. We haven’t found a family yet for you, but I will do what I can. It’s difficult that you don’t yet know English, and most people here in New York don’t speak any of the languages you do. We’re also going to let you go to school so you can learn all sorts of things, including English. You like to learn, don’t you Daniel?” The translation took an extra moment, and Mrs. Johnson waited in silence for a response, which was an eager nod by Daniel. “I thought so. Everything is going to be okay Daniel.” She didn’t want to make promises she knew she couldn’t keep. No matter how many great foster families there were in the system, she knew some only fostered for the money. She did what she could to know the parents with whom she put her precious kids, but she had no guarantees in this job.

“ **Do I have to go back to that place again?** ” Daniel was rather clear; he didn’t like Maryvale.

“I’m afraid so for the moment, Daniel. But in two weeks, you get to start school, so you only have to be at the home at night most days. And until then I’m going to come and visit with you as often as I can, if you would like that.” Daniel nodded slowly, considering what she said thusfar. She’s been nice so far, and Daniel couldn’t think of a reason not to spend time with her. Except she wouldn’t understand. “Do you have any other questions for me, Daniel?” She noted the time, it was already evening and she had kept the two professors much longer than originally agreed upon by them. Daniel shook his head, yawning as he did. The day had surely been exhaustive for him emotionally. But at least it was a start.

Nancy now had some idea of where she stood and with what she had to work. Daniel would require a lot of attention from her in the next several months, but she was as committed to her charges as any social worker she knew, and usually more. She thanked the professors for their time and took Daniel’s hand to leave the office. “One moment, Mrs. Johnson,” Professor Litrell stopped them and knelt down in front of Daniel. “ **How much Latin do you know, son?** ” He questioned in perfect Latin, and received a smile from Daniel.

“ **Mom and I read the _Aeneid_ last year together. Then we went to visit Carthage, where Queen Dido ruled.** ” Daniel pulled back a tear from the memory.

“ **And how’s your Greek?** ” Dr. Litrell was impressed with Daniel’s esquisite answer to his question.

“ **We spent a summer in Olympia, where I was born. Mom said every historian needs to know Greek and Latin to read from the masters.** ” Daniel’s Greek was as good as his Latin.

“ **I’ve never met a boy so young who spoke so well. You are truly special, did you know that Mr. Jackson?** ” Dr. Litrell put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder warmly. Daniel blushed and dropped his head, but after a moment, he threw himself at Dr. Litrell in a hug. He spent so long without much contact, and Daniel was ready to hug anyone with whom he could converse. He didn’t feel so helpless anymore. He rejoined Mrs. Johnson at the door.

“Thank you, gentlemen, so much for this afternoon. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me.” Mrs. Johnson mentally jotted down to send them thank you cards.

“It’s been our pleasure. Please contact us with any questions you might have.” Dr. Litrell was professional, but Dr. Gibran was truly generous. “If you leave me with a mailing address, I’ll be happy to draw up some flash cards to help Daniel out. I would love the opportunity to help.”

“You are too kind, Dr. Gibran, and I will take you up on that offer. I’ll leave my address with the secretary. Thank you so much again!” Mrs. Johnson waved and escorted Daniel out. Daniel looked back and waved as well to the two gentlemen as they rounded the corner towards the department secretary and then the building exit.

The car ride home was, as usual, silent. Mrs. Johnson started detailing out the work she’d have to do to get Daniel proficient in English mentally. Daniel went over the new information in his head, integrating it to the information he already knew. He learned more today than he had since his grandfather left him after the court hearings. He decided to trust Mrs. Johnson after today, though he questioned whether he should trust anyone at all. He trusted Nick. Nick left him. He didn’t want Mrs. Johnson to leave him too. She had no reason to stay. He really wanted just to go home. But in the meantime, he’d trust Mrs. Johnson.

* * *

 ****

Chapter 4: Getting a Helping Hand

* * *

A package arrived two days later to the Social Services office for Mrs. Johnson. Imad Gibran sent a whole shoebox of flashcards and a comprehensive Arabic/English dictionary for Daniel. In it was a note:

 _For you, Daniel,  
I bought this dictionary at the airport as I was leaving Paris for New York, when, like you, I knew little of the language of the country to which I was moving. It has earned its value many times over, and so I pass this along to you as you start along your journey here in the United States. Living here is nothing like home, but you will get used to it. Never forget from where you came; it defines you. I wish you the best on your journey,  
Dr. Imad Gibran  
New York University Foreign Languages_

Mrs. Johnson was shocked and surprised at the amount of flashcards; over a thousand cards were crammed in the old shoebox. Dr. Gibran didn’t make these up over night; she realized he made these as he was learning English. Some cards were yellowing, much like the Arabic/English dictionary, but they were well cared for and obviously used. She smiled at the inscription in the dictionary.

Daniel’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas when Mrs. Johnson handed him the Arabic/English dictionary that afternoon during her visit. Daniel revered it, caressing the front cover and lightly tracing the Arabic script on the front cover. He thanked Mrs. Johnson in English, which pleased her greatly, before she even had a chance to give him the large shoebox. But his attention was no longer hers; by the time she turned back to face Daniel, having collected the box from the table behind her, he was already gone. She found him back in the dorm room, stretched out on his bed with the dictionary and his notebook open, his pencil flying about the page.

With the shoebox in hand, she interrupted his impromptu English lesson by sitting down on the edge of the bed next to his notebook. It took the movement of the bed as she sat for Daniel to realize that she was present in the room, but once he noticed, he looked up at her. What emotion he was communicating while staring with those big eyes, Nancy Johnson wasn’t sure. She thought she saw sadness, but also wonder. She also thought she saw gratitude in his eyes. They were very expressive; they betrayed an entire range of emotions Daniel had flowing through him. When he saw the shoebox in her lap, he quickly got up and sat next to her, waiting for an explanation, as if she could have given one to him in Arabic. He settled down to her right, pressed up against her. She couldn’t resist but put her arm around him and encourage the closeness by rubbing his upper arm.

She didn’t immediately hand him the box, but she did open it up in her lap, revealing the hundreds of cards packed as tightly as possible in the box. She pulled a few out of the middle, unsure if there was any system of organization, and handed them to Daniel. He eyed the entire transaction curiously; when he received the cards, he anxiously flipped through them, turning them around as he examined them. After a minute, he reached out with a card. “Scrambled,” he stated frankly, and correctly, for _scrambled_ was the word on the card. She smiled at him brightly and nodded her head. Daniel smiled back as he reached into the box and picked a few more cards out of the box.

“Jota?” Daniel questioned with the next card. Never having heard the word herself, she took a closer look at the word.

“Eye-oh-ta.” Daniel looked down at the card. _Iota._

He pointed to the ‘I’ in the word. “Jjjja?” Nancy Johnson smiled but shook her head.

“I,” she pointed right back to the same letter. Picking up his pencil and notebook from behind her, she drew out the letters I & J, pointing to each and pronouncing them to note the difference. Daniel responded positively; the next card he pronounced correctly, _blind_. Mrs. Johnson couldn’t help but be tickled pink with Daniel’s eagerness. He had some trouble with the long and short vowel pronunciations, but within a good half an hour he was speeding through the box of cards with a hunger for knowledge she had never seen in a boy so young. As she glanced at her watch, she realized she had to go to take care of another of her children. So Nancy said her goodbyes and smiled at Daniel’s salutations in proper English as she left.

* * *

The house mothers who ran the boys’ home were less than enthused when they arrived to begin making breakfast. They found a slumbering Daniel on the floor beside the dining table. Over half of the shoebox’s contents were in piles strewn all over the table. One lady surmised that Daniel got out of bed after lights out and did who knows what out here throughout the night. Daniel awoke as he heard two of the ladies begin to pick up the cards. He sat up a little too quickly, hitting his head against the edge of the table and alerting the women to his arousal. “What did you think you were doing last night? You should have been in bed!” Daniel sat there dumbfounded and rubbing his head, still unable to understand what or why the lady was shouting at him. But, just then, he peered over the edge of the table to find his precious piles gone; all the work he had done sorting through the words he knew was all gone.

“No!” he shouted, putting a hand on a pile about to be combined with another by one of the ladies. Daniel’s strength was no match for a lady who spent her days dealing with young boys; she quickly snatched the cards out from under his hand, and combining it with the large stack in her hand, simply handed the entire set back to Daniel and pointed towards the door.

Daniel attempted his sorting again outside in the late afternoon August air. He still secluded himself from the rest of the boys playing, taking his normal spot behind the solitary tree in the corner of the yard. He played with some loose leaf paper to fold them into small boxes large enough to hold index cards and used rocks he cleaned with his shirt as paperweights as he sorted the cards into three piles. The first were words he knew in Arabic, and hence should be easy to learn in English. Daniel placed words that he recognized in Arabic but could not define into a second pile, and he disappointedly placed words he did not know at all into a third pile. Almost two hours passed before Daniel completed his task, but he was pleasantly surprised when the majority of the cards were in the first stack, and very few indeed were in the third.

* * *

Daniel was eager to learn English; his parents had promised to teach him while they were in New York. That didn’t happen. While the enthusiasm wasn’t what it was when they first landed at JFK Airport, Daniel also realized that learning the language was necessary. His father always told him to take on whatever tasks he set himself with as much vigor and enthusiasm as he could muster, even if he didn’t want to do them. Daniel didn’t have the heart to muster the enthusiasm he had when he first came here; the grief was still too strong to overcome. But he could muster now more than he could since the accident. In the past few days, he found not one, but three people who understood him and helped him understand what was going on in his life. The situation seemed no longer hopeless; he was given the ability to communicate through small index cards. That gift was now one of Daniel’s prized possessions, and he knew he would regret it if he didn’t take full advantage of this gift.

Over the next few days, Daniel was never seen without a handful of cards with him. Often he carried around the entire shoebox so he could change out the cards quickly. The house mothers ignored him as they had largely given up on the boy after Mr. Johansen explained Daniel’s ‘situation’ to them. They didn’t notice when Daniel started talking to them, using his broken English to try to express himself. They had simply learned to accept that the boy was silent; deep down they never heard Daniel reach out to them and they had other boys who better deserved their attention. So Daniel accepted their silence as the norm, and he too once again became silent.

The next two weeks passed quickly for Daniel. Mrs. Johnson visited when she could; as a social service caseworker who handled special needs children, she was frequently out in the field much more often than her coworkers. Her kids demanded more attention from their caseworker; it was as simple as that. She was delighted that Daniel seemed to look forward to her visits. The four times she visited he didn’t fail to have a set of cards about which to inquire their pronunciation. _Scribble. Apple. Book. Pen. Pin. Writhe._ Each time she visited, she was pleased with the immense improvement in his language skills; by the third visit he not only greeted her properly, but also began stringing words together in sentences. Daniel was still using the Arabic style sentence structure and only the infinitive of the verbs, but he was communicating. What Mrs. Johnson didn't know is that his attempts to communicate with anyone else in the facility had gone unanswered and ignored. His eagerness was not only from the hope of positive reinforcement for his newly acquired language skills, but also for the chance for someone to pay attention to him. She was the only one who cared and she didn't know she was alone.

* * *

Chapter 5: Learning

* * *

“This is not fair!” Elizabeth Waltonen shouted loud enough for people to hear as they passed by in the hallway. “You promised me a full class this year, Mr. Nowanowsky, not another year of babysitting bratty children with behavioral issues!”

Mr. Nowanowsky listened patiently to the petulant teacher wail and complain, though he didn’t pay much attention; he had other work to do on the first day of school. His annoyance at the young teacher was apparent in his body language. “Miss Waltonen, I don’t care whether or not you think this is unfair. We have a responsibility to teach each child that walks in our doors. Mr. Jackson is not an exception to this rule.”

“So because I’ve shown you in the past I know how to handle rowdy kids, I get singled out for this assignment? I became a teacher to educate students, not take over their parenting. I resent this decision, Principal.” Miss Waltonen slanted her eyes and glared at the aging principal behind his metal desk.

“You were chosen for this assignment because of you immense success with exceptional children, Miss. Waltonen. You will be educating this boy, end of discussion.” Mr. Nowanowsky’s headache was beginning to vibrate past a dull thud. School hadn’t officially even started yet for the year; if this was any indication of how the year was going to go, he might as well retire now. He continued with his planned lecture. “The boy in question does not have behavioral issues, as far as we can tell. He is not integrated into a class because he doesn’t speak English.”

Miss Waltonen gasped at the announcement. “Then how the hell am I supposed to teach him?”

Mr. Nowanowsky returned the slanted glare to the young teacher. “If you would stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you. His caseworker indicates that he’s picking up the language quickly. In the past two weeks he’s gone from zero fluency to broken spoken fluency, and his vocabulary is rapidly growing daily. We will retest him for placement at the end of December. I expect him to place into the third grade by then, Miss. Waltonen. You’ve got quite a task then, don’t you?” He broached a small smirk across his face.

“Four months to teach him enough English to pass your tests, that’s all I get? Then what? Where do I go from there?”Her anger at the situation was rapidly rising to the point of insubordination.

“Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Miss Waltonen literally huffed and began to walk out of the office. “You might as well stay for the meeting. His bus arrives momentarily.” Mr. Nowanowsky pointed to a stiff chair, raising his eyebrow to her as he clearly expressed his desire for her to take that seat. She obeyed hesitantly, dropping herself in the seat unceremoniously. Mr. Nowanowsky left her in his office to simmer as he met the busses out in the front circle to welcome the children to his school.

* * *

Daniel was tagged with a large name badge, as were all the other young boys at the home. One of the house-mothers shoved an old canvas book bag in his arms and pushed him forward to the bus waiting outside. He awkwardly handled the bag as his arms were already full carrying his precious Arabic/English dictionary with which he was always seen. The house-mother noticed Daniel fumbling with the bag, and bent down to help him put his book in his new bag. He was the last to board; the house-mother walked up with him and spoke a moment to the bus driver. She told the bus driver that Daniel was special needs, though she didn’t go into detail, and the bus driver indicated that he wanted the child to sit in the front so he could keep an eye on him. She smiled and pressed the boy down into the front bench of the bus, promptly exiting the bus and allowing it to leave.

Daniel looked down at his name badge. Upside down, it looked unfamiliar, but as he contorted both his head and shirt, he at once recognized it as his name. He was caught in a moment of deep sorrow as he remembered when his mother first showed him how to write his name.

 __

Daniel glued himself to his mother as the train sped from Venice to Istanbul. Mel was never much of a flyer, so unless they had to go Trans-Atlantic, they sailed or railed their way through historical landmarks and libraries around the world. The three of them had a booth to themselves, and several of their research assistants and partners in their new grant were occupying nearby booths in the café car. The banter was jolly and deep, and the entire crew seemed to be enjoying themselves and their liquid merriment.

Daniel had to sit on his knees to comfortably reach the table, stretching his torso out over top and his bottom swinging in the air. He was scribbling furiously on several loose sheets of paper, drawing pyramids and sphinxes with his box of crayons. When he was finished, he snatched it up and shoved it into his mother’s face so closely she couldn’t really see anything but the shadowed paper. She couldn’t help but giggle. After moving the precious artwork away from her face, she oohed and ahhed at the picture, rubbing Daniel’s back gently as he eagerly went on to explain all the minute details in his drawing.

Once he managed to take a breath, she jumped in to stop him from continuing on for another five minutes straight. “ **So, you know what this needs?** ” He shook his head almost violently, his slightly big glasses nearly flying off his small face. “ **We need to put your name on this so everyone knows who drew this piece of artwork when it goes into a museum someday!** ”

“ **In a museum? Like the one we just visited yesterday? Really?** ” Daniel’s face lit up like a rising sun as he jumped up and down on the leather-lined booth in excitement. Claire had to put an arm around his waist to calm him down while Mel just sat back on his side of the booth and laughed, thankful Daniel was next to his mother.

“ **Why not? I know the perfect museum to put it in! Mel, don’t you think this will be an excellent addition to our own museum back home? Right next to the papyrus scroll on the wall?** ” Claire held up the drawing to properly show her husband.

“ **Mom! That’s not a museum!** ” Daniel pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest and huffing.

“ **Sure it is, son!** ” Mel cried back, defending his personal collection. “ **It's got the greatest treasures in the world!** ” And it did. The Drs. Jackson had always encouraged Daniel’s creativity; they often framed and placed his scribbles and drawings up around the house, sometimes near many of the precious artifacts they had kept from their previous digs around the world.

“ **I want this one in my bedroom!** ” Daniel countered, having decided the best place for his artwork. Claire conceded to his wish.

“ **Of course, sweetie. But we still need to put a name on this!** ” Daniel settled back into his former position, partially laid across the table on his knees. Claire pulled over several blank sheets of paper, setting aside the drawing in a safe place. Over the next hour she not only showed him how to write his name in Arabic, but also in Greek, Egyptian, Latin, Phoenician, Hebrew and lastly in English. “ **You see, English is almost like Latin, but English has a separate letter for ‘Jae’ as in ‘Jackson.’** ” She drew out a big letter ‘J’ on the paper and watched as he copied it once.

“ **Mama, is English what you and dad speak?** ” Daniel was always curious about languages, a trait he got from his mother in spades. She smiled back to him.

“ **Yes, my son. English is our first language, much like Arabic is yours. Mommy and Daddy did all our schooling in English. Where we come from, everyone speaks English; just like in Egypt everyone speaks Arabic.** ” Claire wasn’t sure if Daniel understood this at such a young age, but she couldn’t think of a better way to explain it.

“ **So am I going to learn English?** ” Daniel seemed enthusiastic at the prospect.

“ **Eventually, Daniel,** ” Mel interrupted. “ **I think four languages are more than enough for a four-year-old, don’t you think so, big boy?** ” Daniel wildly shook his head no and was instantly tickled into his mother’s lap while laughing and yelling hysterically. Claire tucked her only son in her lap while he happily calmed down tracing out the letters to his name over and over again in all the languages his mother showed him until he collapsed from utter exhaustion.

Daniel was in tears long before the bus made it to the school. He spent the rest of the ride tracing his name with his small fingers along the nametag. But boys of the age of eight didn’t cry anymore, so his open emotions attracted the attention of some older students on the bus who sniggered and laughed behind his back. Daniel sat still while kids wildly filed out of the bus, remaining until he was nearly alone with the bus driver. “Go on kid, school’s about to start!”He overtly gestured towards the door, plying Daniel to exit the bus so he could continue on his day. Daniel took the last leap off the tall stairs onto the curb, and before he really had a chance to look back, the bus had peeled out of the parking spot and was racing down the road. Confused as to what to do next, he stood right there, as if he were growing roots, and hugged his bag tightly.

* * *

The students had all filed into the school doors, leaving the bus embarkation area empty with the exception of Daniel. He was lost in his mind, observing the flow of busy traffic on the road nearby, remembering how different this was from the streets of Cairo. He was startled by a large hand settling on his shoulder, jumping up and out off the curb in fear. Mr. Nowanowsky, having noticed the young boy remaining outside, walked out to help the boy inside. To his surprise, it was the one boy for whom he was looking. “Hey, hey, its okay!” Mr. Nowanowsky held his hands up, showing the boy he shouldn’t fear him. “Daniel? My name is Mr. No-an-ow-ski” he pronounced his name slowly and carefully for him, knowing the boy’s English was minimal. Daniel took Mr. Nowanowsky’s proffered hand and he allowed himself to be led inside the big red doors to the school.

Miss Waltonen barely managed to disguise the disgust on her face as Mr. Nowanowsky walked Daniel into his office. His adorable features were unsuccessful in softening her heart to him from his floppy hair to his big glasses to his proper yet meek ‘hello’ when greeted. She snatched his hand after tucking his file under her arm and hastily walked out of the office, moving at a much faster pace than Daniel’s little legs could carry him.

Elizabeth Waltonen was furious. She wasn’t given even a classroom this year since she didn’t have a class of her own. Mr. Nowanowsky informed her that a small part of the library had been cordoned off with large movable blackboards offering only a modicum of privacy. She wasn’t even given a proper desk! In the small space provided stood only one work table and two chairs, one for each of them. She gasped in horror when she saw her accommodations for the next year. She failed at hiding her resentment from Daniel as she angrily rearranged the space, moving back the blackboards and moving the table to create as much space as possible. She had such high hopes for this year. Just last night she had written down several ideas of how to decorate her classroom in autumn leaves and a big cut out of a red schoolhouse. This pittance of a space couldn’t allow for almost any of her decorating ideas.

Daniel was still standing at the edge of the makeshift ‘room’ when one of the secretaries brought two cardboard boxes to Miss Waltonen, dropping it deftly and retreating upon seeing the woman’s wrath. It took every last bit of Miss Waltonen’s sense of propriety to not growl at the secretary. Inside the first were all the required textbooks for first, second, and third grades, and the second contained the same for the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. The second box also contained a note from Mr. Nowanowsky.

 _I have reconsidered our timeline per your request, Miss Waltonen. You have half a school year, until the end of January, to teach Daniel enough English to be placed in an appropriate class level. At that time, we will test him again. You will spend the second half of the year catching him up in the sciences and maintaining his math skills. I've left you all the materials you might possibly need to assist in your efforts, including grade level materials equal to his current math skills. I’m counting on you.  
Edward Nowanowsky_

Miss Walton seethed at the letter; she wasted over an hour of Daniel’s first day at school huffing about the space, reeling in anger over her situation. Not once did she even turn her attentions away from her own misfortunes to see the boy crouch in the corner, leaning up against a bookshelf on the far edge of the ‘classroom.’ He was scared of his new teacher; he thought he was at fault for her anger. He was so curled up in a ball that once Elizabeth came off her high of wrath, she couldn’t see where he was at first glance. “Daniel?”

“I am sorry.” Daniel muttered while his head was still buried in his knees, drying away the subtle tears the fell. The problem is that Miss Waltonen did blame Daniel for her misfortune. If it weren’t for him, she would have been given her own class. This was her year, she thought, and this new assignment inevitably delayed her dream yet again.

“Come on, take a seat. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us this year.” She produced a very fake smile as she smoothed out her blouse and took a seat opposite Daniel at the table. Daniel complied as asked, though hesitantly. He held his head low and repentantly as she hunted through the box for the first workbook they should use. Finding a first grade primer, she slid the book towards him with a large red pencil. Daniel glanced through the book for a few minutes, trying to understand what was expected of him. “Do you know the alphabet?” She questioned, unsure where to even begin. He quietly nodded. Mrs. Johnson had written it out for him on one of her visits last week. Most of it was identical to the Latin alphabet, though he had been previously unfamiliar with the letters J, U, and W. They began by copying the alphabet several times on loose leaf, and Daniel quickly proved he had excellent fine motor skills. She continued on to numbers, where he quickly wrote from one to one hundred and repeated the action with the corresponding ordinals.

Miss Waltonen struggled throughout the day to establish a base level for Daniel. He wouldn’t open up to her, and she couldn’t figure out why. He proved to her to be detached and unresponsive to her caring ministrations. Daniel wasn’t enthusiastic about making a calendar with her for his progress and was thoroughly unimpressed by gold stars. While she understood that he spoke minimal English, she expected him to be more animated and eager to learn from her. She considered herself lucky at least he paid attention to the workbooks; she then had some hope of accomplishing her near-impossible task by the deadline.

* * *

Her first reprieve was their lunch. She was quite content on depositing him at a table nearby and joining some of her fellow teachers at the far end of the cafeteria. She didn’t look once to see the boy sitting completely alone and ignored by most of the student population. She also didn’t realize that Daniel wasn’t ignored by the entire student population. A few of the boys who witnessed the crybaby’s emotional outburst on the bus spied the kid sitting by himself. As they passed to throw their trash away, they uniformly kicked his chair, forcing him to spill his milk on his shirt. The last boy added a solid tap to the back of Daniel’s head, sending his glasses flying into his largely uneaten plate of food. Daniel was completely flabbergasted by the boys’ actions. He couldn’t comprehend the idea of bullying as he had never before experienced it. His time in Egypt and around the world had thus far been devoid of ill intentions. He had never been in any kind of altercation with other boys from the digs, so the boys’ actions here were completely alien to him. Even at the home the other boys avoided him. They laughed, but they avoided him. Miss Waltonen helped Daniel clean himself off while he wiped off his glasses when she came to take him back to class a few minutes later, not having realized what had occurred. “I see we’re going to have to work on handling food.”She nonchalantly stated as she took the final swipe on his shirt and grasped his hand in hers. In response Daniel could only mutter out an apology.

The final bell was a glorious sound to just about everyone in the school, but especially Miss Waltonen. She didn’t think she could stand Daniel’s puppy eyes magnified by his glasses or the unending silence any longer. She needed noisy kids she could hush, kids who would rush in and give her a hug after recess, and kids who vied with each other for her attention. Instead she was left with a child who expressed neither emotion nor any enthusiasm for her. No hugs, no eager raised hands swinging in the air, no _oohs_ and _aahs_ as kids learned something new from their wonderful teacher. Before the end of the day, she instructed him to take home the books he needed for homework and showed him where to place the other textbooks, which was back in the cardboard boxes, now taking up valuable shelving space. He carefully packed up several of the textbooks from the first box into his backpack, eager to read through them, along with the pencils on the desk as she cleaned off the chalkboard, taking almost two school years worth of material home with him. She was quite happy to walk him out to the bus yard and hastily deposit him with one of the parent volunteers.

* * *

Once placed in line for the right school bus, Daniel once again became a magnet for the wrong kind of attention. A large sixth grader stood right behind him in line, looming over him like a vulture eager for his prey. “Whatya going to do now, cry over spilled milk? Huh, crybaby?” Daniel turned around to face the boy, a confused look on his face. He knew what the boy was saying; he had learned enough English to put the words in context and the boy’s tone easily gave away his teasing and malicious temperament. But when Daniel dared look the boy straight in the eye, the sixth grader saw it as a challenge. “What are you looking at me for? You better turn around now before I make you!” Daniel didn’t budge. The sixth-grader, angry at Daniel’s defiance, shoved him clear into the girl in front of him, knocking both of them down harshly onto the rough concrete. The girl wailed out in pain as she skinned her knee, attracting the attention of one of the parent volunteers who quickly ran to involve herself into the situation.

“What is going on here? Honey, are you okay?” The volunteer mother soothed the girl, giving exaggerated attention to the slight skin of the knee as the girl settled down.

“Retard here was goofing around and knocked her over,” the sixth-grader volunteered while he pointed to the still fallen Daniel.

As the volunteer mother gathered Daniel up off the ground, she let her emotions for the hurt girl overtake her normally kind disposition. “You better behave yourself, Mr—” She hastily grabbed at his nametag, “Jackson, or we will have to talk to the principal about your inability to stand still and wait for the bus.” She scolded Daniel further about his “clumsiness,” but ignored the large set of small parallel cuts on his cheek when he hit the concrete and skinned his face and elbow. She also took Daniel by the hand and removed him to the back of the line where he couldn’t get into any more trouble.

The bus ride home was thankfully uneventful. The bus driver pointed to the front seat as he boarded and the driver, having been informed by the volunteer mother of the “incident” kept a careful eye on Daniel. Daniel did nothing to raise his suspicions though, other than open up his now bulging backpack and pull out his dictionary.

Unwilling to tolerate any more, Daniel isolated himself from just about everyone else in at the home. He immediately made his way to the solitary tree in the back of the yard once the bus dropped him off from school. He sat in such a way that someone would have to physically walk around the tree to see him. He was left to his own devices until after dinner. No one noticed he wasn't at the table doing homework, and likewise they didn't notice when there was one sandwich left over after all the kids had been served. In the past month and a half Daniel had been here he'd found a number of places he could be left alone. He truly wanted to be alone tonight; if going to school was always like this, he never wanted to go back. Once it began to darken, he retreated indoors to another of his spots and continued reading through the workbook he began in class until well after lights-out.

* * *

Sadly, the first day became the norm; he never sat with anyone at lunch, Miss Waltonen never forgave Daniel for forcing her to teach him instead of a whole class, and he regularly found the attentions of bullies. He was never around anyone else long enough to make friends, and the boys at the home learned just days after he arrived to ignore and avoid him. Within two months all the workbooks through the third grade were completed and re-completed by Daniel. The house mothers expected him to come back regularly with notes from the volunteer parents supervising the bus yard about Daniel’s behavior, not to mention regular scrapes and bruises any rowdy eight-year-old would normally incur. Mrs. Johnson visited on the weekends, often removing Daniel from the home for some time away from everyone else. Her Saturday visits were the highlight of the week even if they just went to the public library or the park and rested; from Sunday through Friday, he displayed little enthusiasm or enjoyment of the world around him. He found solace in the schoolwork, and it let him drift away from the unending sorrow that was enveloping his heart.

* * *

 ****

Chapter 6: The Release

* * *

“He’s not a bad kid, is he, Elizabeth?” Sally Montgomery, a fourth grade teacher, commented to her closest teaching friend at the school during lunch one afternoon in December.

Elizabeth Waltonen released a heavy sigh. “No, he’s not a bad kid, Sal. I just don’t know how I can get him to _like_ me.” For two months, her one student did very little to show his appreciation for all the hard work she had put into his education so far this year. “No matter what I do, I can’t get him to smile, let alone talk to me! It’s so frustrating!” Most days Elizabeth went home and wanted to pull her hair out from the frustration that was Daniel Jackson. “I’m going crazy in that little library! No one should be subjected to the torture I’m enduring!”

“He’s completely silent? Is he dumb?” Mrs. Montgomery was shocked at Elizabeth’s release. She had thirty noisy kids for eight hours a day. Recess was her only rescue from the incessant whining, coughing, whispering, and giggling she endured on a constant basis.

“No, he reads aloud when I ask him to do so, and sometimes I can get him to answer questions relating to whatever it is we’re reading. But there’s no ‘I missed you, Miss. Waltonen!’ or ‘Let me tell you about my weekend, Miss Waltonen!’ or even a ‘Guess what!’” Deep down, Elizabeth Waltonen needed reassurance that Daniel liked her and looked up to her, but he never cared enough to utter a single compliment to his teacher or engage her in discussion. She felt like a failure as a teacher, but not for the reasons she actually was one.

* * *

Parent-Teacher Night was actually a night Miss Waltonen was looking forward to this year. Her curiosity about Daniel’s home life intensified as the days grew closer and she was very interested to learn about this boy’s family. She frequently questioned Daniel if his mom was coming or perhaps his father until two days before the meeting when he finally lost it. “They’re dead! Don’t you get it? They’re not coming! Why do you keep asking me this? They’re dead! They’re dead! They’re dead!” He screamed as he launched himself out of the chair and ran down the corridor to the front doors of the school. He nearly knocked over the worktable in his anger, and it jolted into Elizabeth’s abdomen as he pushed on it.

Mr. Nowanowsky was walking the halls hunting down kids without hall passes when Daniel nearly ran him over. He managed to catch the child in his arms, though Daniel struggled violently, flailing his legs in any direction they would go. “Let go of me! Let go of me!” Daniel repeated the plea several times while Mr. Nowanowsky just held him tightly, hoping Daniel would calm down momentarily. Instead, Daniel’s anger flared, and he resorted to trying to kick Mr. Nowanowsky to release him. He squirmed and screamed in the principal’s large hold with all his energy; Daniel was manic in his energy levels, very much high off the adrenalin that spiked when he first reacted to Miss Waltonen. Unable to calm the boy, he held on tightly and carried the screaming child all the way to the school nurse.

Mr. Nowanowsky deftly deposited the boy on a green burlap upholstered chair in the nurse’s station, but held tightly to the boy’s arms. “Calm down!” He didn’t repeat himself but stared straight into the boy’s eyes. Instantly, the boy launched at the kneeling man, this time wrapping his small arms around Mr. Nowanowsky’s neck and latching on to him with all four limbs. Daniel broke down in his arms; he loudly sobbed, coughing as he tried to intake air while still buried in Mr. Nowanowsky’s shoulder, hot tears soaking through both their shirts within a matter of moments.

Edward Nowanowsky could do nothing to console the boy as he wailed and cried in his arms. Repeatedly he tried to disengage the boy, but Daniel was secure in his grasp on Mr. Nowanowsky. Resigning himself to remain with the boy, he requested the nurse call for his secretary, who arrived moments later. “Ring Mrs. Johnson now! I needed her here five minutes ago! And where the hell is Miss Waltonen?” The secretary shrugged her shoulders and left to call Mrs. Johnson.

Several minutes later, Miss Waltonen finally found her charge. Mr. Nowanowsky didn’t hesitate to start yelling at her the moment he saw her enter the nurse’s station. “What the hell is going on? What happened?”

“Oh, you’re taking his side? What about what he did to me? Damned near threw the table at me!” Miss Waltonen was angered by Mr. Nowanowsky’s accusatory tone. She didn’t try to reach for the boy or console him herself.

“You’re the adult here, Elizabeth! Or do I need to remind you of that? Something had to set the boy off, and as he’s ALONE in a class all day with you, I assume that you would know what prompted this behavior!” Mr. Nowanowsky took to cradling the still sobbing boy, rocking and walking around and rubbing his back. He prayed Mrs. Johnson showed up soon. Daniel’s fifty pounds were quickly wearing the principal out, so he carefully lowered himself into the green burlap chair. “Elizabeth, please explain what happened with Daniel.” He was as calm as he was going to get.

Miss Waltonen worked to mentally calm herself down as she paced the nurse’s station. “I asked him about who’s coming to parent-teacher night, and he just lost it! He started screaming ‘they’re dead! They’re dead!’ and he pushed the table into me and ran. I have no idea why he’d be so upset that his parents were coming to meet me that he’d lie so convincingly that they were dead. Edward, there is something wrong with this boy, seriously wrong.” She was nodding as she pointed accusingly at the boy. As far as she was concerned she was finished with him. She never wanted him in the first place, and she was more than willing to give him up for a class of her own.

“You’re joking right?” Mr. Nowanowsky stared at her in utter shock. “You think Daniel lied to you about his parents because he didn’t want you to meet them? Are you serious?” He tightened his embrace around Daniel, who was very slowly quieting his sobs. Fortunately for Daniel, he was so in the throes of his emotional outburst, he never heard a word of this conversation.

“I’m dead serious Edward! That boy refuses to talk to anyone, especially me, he’s constantly getting into scuffles with other boys, and while I admit, he’s very, very smart, he’s so damaged his intelligence will surely go to waste. And the lying! Why would you lie about your parents being dead? What child in their right mind is that morbid?” Miss Waltonen moved from the defensive to the offensive; she was no longer defending her being correct, but making sure everyone knew how off this boy was. They all needed to know before something else happens.

“Elizabeth! Not another word!” Mr. Nowanowsky was furious. “You will wait for me in my office. Not another word, Elizabeth, not in front of this boy.” He continued to soothe the boy by rubbing his back; Daniel’s sobs were steadily quieting down. Most kids would be sound asleep from exhaustion after a half hour of wailing and crying, but Daniel was not there yet. He was much calmer, but that was the exhaustion, not relief or consolation for his grief. It took a full ten minutes more for Daniel to relax and fall asleep in Mr. Nowanowsky’s arms.

* * *

Mrs. Johnson found Daniel and Mr. Nowanowsky still in the green burlap chair. Daniel was sound asleep, and from the looks of it, Mr. Nowanowsky was almost out for the count as well with his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes closed. His eyes popped open when Mrs. Johnson quietly whispered his name. “Oh thank God! You’re here!” He pulled himself and Daniel out of the chair and wrestled to get Daniel to release him.

Mrs. Johnson did what she could to extricate Mr. Nowanowsky from Daniel’s grip, which was considerably easier since he was out like a lightbulb. They managed to settle Daniel back into the green chair, a little slumped over the right arm rest. “What happened?”

“I’m about to go find out, but from what I heard his teacher asked him about his parents coming to parent-teacher night, and he finally released some of that grief he’s been holding deep inside of him.” Mr. Nowanowsky paused for a moment, trying to decide whether Mrs. Johnson should be a participant in the discussion he was about to have with Miss Waltonen, but decided against it. “Come with me, and we’ll talk after I have a chance to confer with my teacher. Daniel will be fine here with the nurse.” They both looked back on the slumped sleeping child, and though neither was particularly happy to leave the child, they resigned to do their jobs.

* * *

Mrs. Johnson sat quietly in the main office while Mr. Nowanowsky had his conversation with Miss Waltonen. “Take a seat, Elizabeth.” Mr. Nowanowsky was stern and direct with his order. “Sit!” He repeated when Elizabeth stood there stunned in his office rather than follow directions. He lowered himself into his office chair, his angry gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s. She opened her mouth to defend herself. “Not another word, Elizabeth!” He held up his pointer finger to silence her. Taking a deep breath, he began his lecture to the junior teacher. “I’m very disappointed in you, Elizabeth, to think that a child would lie about the death of his own parents. Did you even consider the idea that he was telling the truth?”

“Of course he wasn’t! We’d have seen signs before now!”Elizabeth began to think back the previous three months.

“You mean like depression, low energy, withdrawal and anger? You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed any of those things in Daniel at all these past months?”Mr. Nowanowsky was trying to help Miss Waltonen come to the realization she was wrong, but she wasn’t making the connections apparently. “His parents died in July, Elizabeth.” His voice was quieter; while Edward Nowanowsky had no acquantence with the Drs. Jackson, it was surprisingly hard for him to admit their fate.

Elizabeth dropped her jaw in shock. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know, Elizabeth, but I don’t think he’s ever told anyone. You’re honestly telling me you had no idea about any of this? The fact we had to teach him a whole new language? The fact he had a caseworker? His withdrawn personality? You didn’t think anything of them?” Mr. Nowanowsky was beginning to regret his decisions in September placing Daniel with Miss Waltonen.

“I just thought he didn’t speak English in the household! How should I know any of this unless you tell me?” The two were at an impasse. On the one hand, Mr. Nowanowsky did not ever directly tell Miss Waltonen Daniel was an orphan. The situation had been eluded to, but never directly communicated. On the other hand, over two months with a child is more than enough to gain his trust and help him to open up to her. She should have found out at the beginning.

Unable to progress the conversation any further, Mr. Nowanowsky quietly responded, “Well, now you know. You’re dismissed Elizabeth. You might as well go home, as Daniel will not be returning to class today.”

“That’s it, you’re just dismissing me? I’d like to know what I did wrong, Edward! I’ve done nothing but be as kind and generous a teacher I can be to that boy! I’ve put up with his silence and his brooding and his inability to stay with the syllabus! Not to mention all the complaints I get from the volunteers out in the busyard about his behavior!” Miss Waltonen went on the offensive against Daniel.

“Enough, Elizabeth! I am not questioning your teaching, though if I were you I’d pay attention next time and notice Daniel’s being bullied in the busyard and at recess. Don’t think I don’t know about it- I see all, Elizabeth. Now go home!” Mr. Nowanowsky went so far as to walk out of his own office before his dismissed subbordinate.

* * *

The conversation with Mrs. Johnson was much more subdued. Mr. Nowanowsky described in detail everything he had seen the past few months about Daniel, from the withdrawal to the subtle bullying. There was little Mr. Nowanowsky could do about the bullying, as it was effectively covered up not just by the older boys but by the adults around them who readily believed that one already-isolated child was misbehaving rather than one student disparaging upon another. As they had never really escalated to violence, Edward hoped that the bullying would strengthen Daniel enough to stand up for himself. He even admitted he may be wrong on that to Mrs. Johnson. They chatted about Daniel’s future at the school and the possibility of integrating him into a class. Nothing could be determined until they tested him again. In the meantime, they agreed that the personal tutoring should continue through the set time of five months, and Daniel would again be tested at the end of January to integrate him into a proper class.

Mrs. Johnson took Daniel back to the Maryvale home. He slept the entire way home, his tear streaked face as calm and peaceful as she had ever seen it. Daniel had finally said that awful truth, and now that it was out, it looked as if a burden had been released from him. She stayed with him all night in one of the isolation rooms the home had. She was there when he woke up, and she was his consolation when he continued to pour out his emotions in the early morning. Nancy Johnson remained with Daniel through the next two times he cried himself to sleep and woke up hours later. He never realized how much he needed her then, but she did.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: The Realization**

* * *

“How did your meeting go, Liz?” Sally Montgomery was ready to head home for the evening, but noticed her co-worker still in the library on Parent-Teacher Night on her way home.

“Didn’t happen, Sal,” Elizabeth sighed, briskly turning a page in a workbook book in front of her, her right hand tapping the red pen clutched in it. “Daniel hasn’t been in school since,” she paused, recounting the breakdown, “ _it_ happened. His parents died in July, Sal; no one is coming.”

“Then why are you even here tonight, hon? You should be at home relaxing!” Sal took a seat on the child size chair that Daniel normally occupied opposite of Elizabeth Waltonen. Elizabeth returned her gaze to the notebook in front of her.

“You know, I know he was ahead in his schoolwork—I’ve glanced through the workbook he’s been working in, but I had no idea he’d completed _all_ of his workbooks. God, Sal, what kind of teacher doesn’t see this?” Elizabeth slid the workbook to Sally, who flipped the book close to realize it was the sixth grade language arts workbook.

“Wait, this is way above Daniel’s level, isn’t it? I thought he didn’t even speak English!” Sally was flabbergasted at the thought.

“Three months ago, this child didn’t speak English at all. Now he is fluent enough to complete, and nearly perfectly by the way, sixth grade materials.” She slapped shut the workbook. “He had to be working non-stop since I gave him these books to have them all completed, Sal. I don’t think this boy has done anything but study. God! How am I going to face him when he comes back? Sally, the kid lost it on Tuesday! He hasn’t been back! How am I supposed to teach if I don’t even have a student?” Elizabeth’s voice steadily increased in nervous tension and pitch as she rambled towards incoherence.

Sally stood up and braced Liz. “Sweetie, are you talking about him studying, or him grieving?”

“I don’t know anymore, Sal; I really don’t know.” Liz was visibly upset; she had every reason to be. The past couple of months she’d given so little attention to her sole student. She didn’t even like Daniel that much, not that she realized it. She resented him for not being a normal student. He was too quiet, he worked ahead, never smiled at her, never appreciated her. But her heart broke for him when she found out two days ago he lost his parents just a few months earlier. Perhaps subconsciously she knew that she wouldn’t have resented him had she known about his parents from the beginning. Perhaps she was feeling a twinge of guilt.

“Come on, hon. Let’s get out of here.” Sally physically led Elizabeth Waltonen out of the tiny cubicle in the library and out to her car.

* * *

Elizabeth responded to Mr. Nowanowsky’s summons the next morning. She quietly rapped on his door, still a little hung over from last night’s pity party she held for herself. “Come in!”

“Ah, Elizabeth, please, take a seat.” Mr. Nowanowsky was hunched over his desk. He nearly didn’t look up to her when she entered.

“Mr. Nowanowsky, I was wondering if you knew when Daniel was returning to class. I’ve had a chance to grade—”

“Elizabeth.” Mr. Nowanowsky interrupted her. “Daniel will not be returning. I received a call from his social worker this morning. She’s placed him in a home yesterday. He’s due to start his new school on Monday.” He paused for a moment but continued as she was about to begin speaking. “I need to know how far you’ve gotten in his coursework so that the next school can place him.” His voice was dripping with disdain for Elizabeth; he was still very upset at her poor judgment and behavior from three days prior.

“Um—” She blanked for a moment, “We’ve completed almost half way through the third grade, but Daniel’s completed the coursework through the sixth grade on his own, it seems.”

“It seems? You mean you don’t know?”

“I knew he was working ahead in the workbooks, but I had no reason to think he had worked ahead through all the workbooks! Either way, as I was saying, I found the completed assignments Tuesday, after Daniel left school, and graded them all. It’s remarkable.” She simply had no other words to describe his progress. His workbooks were nearly perfect. “He’s behind in science, math, and social sciences, but it is my opinion he is definitely on a sixth grade reading level.”

“We can’t just skip him three grades, Elizabeth! He’s not been integrated into a classroom environment at all! That is completely unfair to him!” Mr. Nowanowsky argued, but to whom he wasn’t fully sure. Putting Daniel in a class with kids three years older wasn’t fair to Daniel, and given the bullying Daniel was already taking in the bus yard, it could be a potentially ex plosive situation. Still feeling anger towards Elizabeth and the situation in general, he curtly dismissed Miss Waltonen from his office and took a seat back behind his desk. He avoided the decision he was supposed to make concerning Daniel’s placement. Instead, his final report in the school file for one Daniel M. Jackson recommended that the child be tested before placement.

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](http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1189676/Going_to_School)


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